Oysters and Pearls
by Audrey Eliot
Summary: The world was their oyster...Baby John Fic
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own West Side Story! Characters that do not appear in West Side Story, however, are mine.**

Boy the sun was hot! As the young man walked along the beat by the playground, he wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of a dirty, tanned hand.

Then, he heard it. The fatal call. The low glissando. Not fatal because of danger, but fatal because it was not just a whistle, it was a mark. A statement of where he belonged. The Jets.

Turning on his heel, he made his way through the playground, dodging flying basketballs and girls' skipping ropes, his blistered feet aching in his tight shoes.

A group of boys, young men, had now formed in the corner by the see-saw. The tallest of the boys looked up, nodded, and lit a cigarette. His blue sweater was dirty around the collar, and his cream trousers were slightly too short. Next to him was a stocky fellow with thick, curly, brown hair, whose face was stuck in a permanent snarl. It was as if he had been sucking lemons since he had come out of the womb.

There were two boys sat in front of them. One of the boys who was slightly smaller than the first, though still tall, was leaning against the wall. His face was looking up at the sky, the light so harsh on his face that you could barely see his strong features. The unbuttoned shirt he wore over his vest blew slightly in the New York wind, and brushed against the arm of a blonde haired boy wearing a bright red shirt. He stood up and strolled towards the young man. Who need to be tall when you had the biggest, broadest, strongest shoulders known to the whole West Side?

In the corner of the alley the silhouettes of three people were outlined by the sun. One, tall and muscular, one small and thin and another the spit of the first. Yet more boys joined them. The smartest looking of all the boys so far walked over with such a presence that you wouldn't, at first glance, have expected him to be in a street gang. His hair was perfectly slicked back compared to the boy next to him. He was short and stocky, much like the lemon boy. His hair was a mousey brown, locks of it clumped together from the sweat that had formed on his brow.

Shuffling along behind the pair of young men was a girl, if you looked closely, trying to be discreet. She wasn't allowed in the gang. She was a girl. She had cut off all her hair and wore boys clothes. The boys hated her. A clingy nobody, anybody, from off the streets.

But who were they to talk? Each one of them didn't belong anywhere else than the Jets. They had a family, obviously, they weren't just _there, _but they could never be part of that life. The Jets were their own family.

There was the older brother, always looking out for others. Ice. The young brother, always making fun. Arab. The grumpy old one; the grandfather. Action. The cousins, in their own worlds and affairs. Tiger, Mouthpeice, Joyboy. The jumpy, hyperactive uncle; always cracking jokes. Snowboy. The smart, superior one. The godfather perhaps? Geetar. The relative that only makes an appearance at Christmas. Big Deal. The school girl sister, annoying and argumentative. Anybodys.

And the new born. The baby. The innocent doey-eyed pup. Baby John.

Baby John was newest member in the gang, as well as the youngest. He was tall and lanky, with bright blonde hair. Always dirtied like the rest of them, yet by far the most bloody. Because he was the youngest you see, he was the who always got picked on.

But not anymore. The fighting had stopped. Ever since _it _happened. That why Ice was the leader. The sharks were friends now. There was the odd rivalry now and then, but nothing like what there used to be.

It was hard for Baby John. It was hard for all of them. But I guess the one thing the Jets had learned was this:

When the world is your oyster, you don't always get the pearl.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own West Side Story! Characters that do not appear in West Side Story, however, are mine.**

Gone. It had passed. No more Jets.

It wasn't right to carry on. There was nothing left to fight for. Yet there was. They needed a place in the world. Especially Baby John.

********

Damn it was cold. The metal on his skin pierced every nerve in his body as he gripped the slippery fire escape. He was going to a friend's. He'd been staying there, since he had no where else to go. Arab was first choice, but he had his own problems.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he turned around. He'd always hated Manhattan. Now, though, there was something different. Police sirens raged through the air, ripping his eardrums as they did. Couples were fighting, screaming. Babies crying and dogs barking. It was all the same. Maybe it was the grief he felt. Sweet misery, maybe.

He knew what misery was all too well. But this time, it felt good.

He began to think about it, feel the emotion as much as he could. It was like a drug. He wanted more…

"Oi"

Baby John gave a start, slipped on the icy railing he had been balanced on and fell face first onto the metal, his leg dangling off the edge. Oh God.

"Well help me then!"

A firm hand grabbed the back of his blue jacket and hoicked him up on his feet. A tall boy stood there. His features hard to make out as the light from the bedroom behind him blared out of the window against the boy's back. He took a step forward.

His face had changed in the short months since the summer. Maybe it was just the winter, but the young man's face was shadowed, tired. Still very handsome, of course, but he looked aged. His strong cheekbones stood out ever more, his face sallowing from exhaustion.

"What'd you do that for? You coulda killed me!"

"Of all the things we've done, Baby John, that was the one thing that knocked your rocker."

"Huh?"

The boy pivoted on the spot and stooped through the window frame. As he did so, he began to cough. His shoulders heaving, bent double as he did so. Once the bout was over he turned to face Baby John's worried expression.

"Silly chest cold, that's all."

Baby John nodded, not totally certain that that was it

"You coming in or not?"

Baby John followed the older boy's footsteps. He was sure of it;

There was something very wrong with Big Deal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own West Side Story! Characters that do not appear in West Side Story, however, are mine : )**

Dream……………

Walking across a bridge, fish are flying along overhead. How lovely.

Oh look! Some Boxes!

I walk over.

He looks down at the boxes.

They look like Christmas presents. There are twelve of them, each a different colour. Slowly, they start opening.

Mind jumps.

Back again.

The boxes all spring open, they're jack-in-the-boxes!!

Oh, what's happened? The two at the back seem to have wilted. They're glass eyes pop out on their springs and stuffing begins to ooze out.

Hmm……

Oh, and another one! And another! That's four……

"Hello John,"

I turn around.

He sees an old man staring at him. Well, he seems to be, I can't really see…

"I told you it would do no good"

"What would do no good?"

"You know perfectly well, it'll be your fault about the last two! More'll start too wilt. Even that little one in middle."

Boy turns round to see a little blonde clown in the middle of the group. He's smiling twistedly.

"Listen to me boy. A Host will fall, then the Jesters, and then the Nave. Court is a dangerous place to be now the Kings are dead. The Queens have all but gone."

"Will they be coming back do you think?"

"Most of the Jack's will fall. But before, a lady. Just watch out boy."

Mind jumps.

Back again.

*******

He sat up with a start. Baby John looked around. There were no flying fish, and no jack-in-the-boxes. A dream.

"Big Deal!"

He jumped out of bed and flew onto the landing.

"What do you reckon to this?"


End file.
